


Holding On To You

by babywhatbaby



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Depression, LGBTQ Themes, Language of Flowers, Multi, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, There will be more but idk where im going with this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babywhatbaby/pseuds/babywhatbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A college student who unhappily works at a shady florist shop. A young tattoo artist who can't draw for shit. Both desperate for someone to understand them, to debate with them, to support them. Someday the rain will stop for them both.<br/>But they have a long and frankly hilarious path to follow before they can get there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding On To You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I finally decided to publish this in response to the, uh, "ending" of Bleach. I think we all deserve better than what we got.  
> In addition to the IchiRuki shenanigans, this story will also explore the sexualities and mental health of its characters. I hope you all can appreciate the significance of these topics, and maybe even relate.

Sometimes, Ichigo really hated his job.

Yeah, it helped pay for his classes, and it was important to get “experience” so he could get a _real_ job in the future, but for now he was stuck cutting flower stems or driving the shitty delivery van around the city every morning, evening, and weekend. Not to mention what an absolute _tool_ his boss was.

Urahara was a slippery guy, always casually passing off more work to Ichigo without the part-timer noticing. Didn’t the guy know he still had a fuckton of homework to do?

And it’s not like Ichigo was his only employee. Hell, there were two _high schoolers_ helping out at the shop too! But no, the only thing Jinta was good for was sweeping the goddamn floor, and Ururu was too shy to man the counter.

The counter Ichigo was currently standing at, trying to trim some purple flowers and spilling some water in the process.

He swore and knelt to the ground, hands juggling the flowers and a dirty old rag. He mopped up the puddle furiously, cursing Urahara for leaving him in charge of two things at once. And where the fuck was the assistant manager, Tessai? Why was he alone with just two kids in the entire shop? It wasn’t–

“Oh my _god_ Renji, for the last time, we are _not_ going to celebrate Kira-san’s promotion by going to a _gay bar_.” A harsh female voice jerked Ichigo back into reality. What the fu–

“Because there aren’t any nearby!” the mystery voice continued. “You know Hisagi-tenchou can’t hold his liquor– imagine how hard it would be to carry his sorry ass all the way back here at two in the morning. Is that what you want, huh? To drag your drunk boss across the city through public transport? Because I’ve already been there, Renji, and let me tell you: _it’s not a good time_.”

Who the f–

“Our apartment?” The voice was louder. Closer. “ _Are you kidding?_ I know for a fact that Hisagi-tenchou has his own plan for ‘congratulating’ his boyfriend for getting a job that _he gave him_ , but I don’t know if I want front row seats! Can’t we do something a little, I don’t know, _professional_ for once? Find a decent restaurant that won’t kick us out! I’m done trying to schedule this crap– I’ve been running all over town all afternoon, and now I’m at some sketchy flower shop that doesn’t seem to have a single employee, because you were too lazy to help me figure this out a week ago!”

Ichigo slapped the damp rag on the still-wet floor. Who the–

“Hellooooo? Is there anyone working here? Or should I just take your merchandise and run–”

Ichigo stood up quickly and glowered over the counter.

“Welcome to Urahara Shop,” he seethed, an intimidating smile stretched across his face. He had to adjust his expression, however, when he realized he was aiming it about a foot too high.

The woman on the other side of the counter was as short as a middle school student, but the resemblance ended there. She met his glare with a cold gaze, oddly colored eyes cutting straight through him. They reminded him, somehow, of the flowers he had been cutting. Her black hair was shorn into a short bob, and her clothes were entirely black. The most off-putting thing, however, was the black tattoo on her left arm. Said arm was currently extended, holding a cellphone.

“What, were you hiding?” the tiny woman asked loudly, putting her phone-free hand on her narrow hip. “Can I get some customer service already?”

This was shaping up to be the most annoying workplace exchange Ichigo ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

“Sorry,” he replied, a mocking tone creeping into his voice, “but we don’t serve yakuza here.” He stared pointedly at the tattoo, which upon closer inspection looked to actually be a Western design. Well, too late to take back his words.

Tattoo-lady slammed her hand on the counter. “Hey, what the _hell_ did you just call me, punk?! Ever look in the mirror?”

Ichigo automatically reached a hand to his hair. “This is its natural color! Unlike _you_ , I’m not interested in body modifications–” 

“Kurosaki, are you being rude to a customer?” asked Urahara, who had just materialized at the back door. Of course, _now_ he would show up.

“U-Urahara-san,” he stammered. “This bi– I mean, this lady walked into the store yelling on her phone, and–”

A falsetto laugh rang through the shop. Ichigo turned to the source, which was, of course, the tattoo-lady. Her disposition has completely shifted. Gone was the aggression, the anger. Instead, the woman had on the fakest smile Ichigo had ever seen. Somehow, it still managed to induce an aura of sunshine. Ichigo squinted in a state of almost pain.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, her voice at least two octaves higher, “I think there’s been a bit of confusion. It’s true I was on the phone with a coworker, but I would _never_ disrespect a store by yelling in it. Though,” she added, casting her gaze down in fake distress, “your employee here doesn’t seem to think the same way.”

Ichigo opened his mouth to retort, but the woman cut him off with a heaving sob.

“He even called me a _yakuza_! What a cruel way to treat customers!”

The woman seemed about to break down in (false) tears, but the ever-savvy Urahara rushed to her side and immediately started smoothing the situation over, agreeing that yes, the mean boy at the counter had crossed the line, and reassuring her that he was only a part-timer, and disliked by the staff. Prick.

One Urahara had “calmed” the woman, she asked for a discount on a bouquet.

Ichigo asked if it was for her elementary school graduation.

Urahara promised her a discount, then escaped to the back room, leaving the incompetent part-timer to assemble the crazy yakuza lady’s gay bouquet. Despite the tension rippling through the air, she was fairly easy to work with, though Urahara’s departure brought back her sharp tongue. She pointed at what she thought was pretty and had him add it, instead of giving him vague concepts like “hope” or “thinking of you” like some customers did. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but her bossiness was kind of refreshing.

“Oh, wait,” said yakuza lady.

Great. She was going to start over. Typical.

“Could we add some of the flowers on the counter? I’ve never seen hydrangeas in a bouquet before. And especially not ones with this deep a color.”

Ah, so _that’s_ what they were.

“Just so you know,” Ichigo said slowly while drawing out a few stems, “I’m not experienced in arrangements.”

“I didn’t ask for your life story,” she replied icily. The woman had been looking at her phone for the past two minutes. Maybe she was in a greater hurry than she had let on.

Ichigo took his time.

Carefully, thoughtfully, and spitefully, he arranged the prettiest bouquet he had ever goddamn seen. Every once in a while, he would sneak a peak at the customer, who had completely traded her initial loud abrasiveness for a much colder, intimidating demeanor. Still, Ichigo drew out the process as much as possible, because he wasn’t about to give in.

Eventually, he rang her up, and he held out his hand for her card. She already had it out, because she was clearly ready to bolt out the door, but instead of handing it over, she dropped it on the counter. So that’s how she was playing now.

When he picked it up, he took a glance at the name. _Kuchiki Rukia_. Ichigo ran the card through the register, sliding it too fast for the computer to register it.  
“Whoops!” he said, giving the woman an exaggerated shrug. “The machine’s been acting up all day. _So_ sorry for the delay.” He then ran it again, and again, and again, watching Rukia’s face as it became darker and overcome by fury.

Eventually, he ended the game and slid the card through properly, finishing the transaction.

“Thank you for your patronage!” Ichigo said cheerily, waving goodbye as the woman stormed to the door. “We hope you come back soon!”

Rukia came to a stop, spun around, and glared deeply, frigidly, inescapably into Ichigo’s eyes. His world dissolved into a world of frozen hydrangeas.

“Oh, I’ll come back,” she said lowly, sending an actual shiver up his spine. “And when I do, you’ll wish you never offended a Kuchiki.”

And then she was gone.

Ichigo shook his head, feeling like he had just broken free from a trance. The store felt colder. Who were the Kuchikis? Could they actually be a yakuza clan?

And why the fuck was the most obnoxious woman he’d ever met also the most beautiful?

He looked down at the counter, where one hydrangea remained.

“Well, shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY THAT HAPPENED
> 
> This is my first AO3 fic so I hope I didn't mess anything up... If you like it, please give me a comment! I'm not sure if I can continue this since school just started, but I'll do it if y'all want me to!
> 
> Until next time!  
> ~Baby


End file.
